


get over it

by clayisforgirls



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-12
Updated: 2015-07-12
Packaged: 2018-04-09 00:55:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4327695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clayisforgirls/pseuds/clayisforgirls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's beginning to wish that he'd never agreed to doing those mojo adverts and commercials, all they seem to do is come back to haunt him. He's fucking tired of hearing about them now, he almost wants to stand up and scream get over it, the US Open was three weeks ago, but he doesn't.</p><p>Andy sits in his seat like a good boy and applauds the Belgian captain when he's done, just like he should.</p><p> </p><p>This was inspired by the article about Andy getting really pissed at the Belgian team captain for mentioning his mojo adverts. Originally posted in October 2005.</p>
            </blockquote>





	get over it

He's pissed, teeth clenched, fingers gripping the table so hard his knuckles are white, and everyone around him knows it. He wants to leave, just stand up and walk out of the room, but he can't, not only would he be in deep shit for doing it, he knows that it would look totally unprofessional, no matter how much this guy is laying into him.

Instead, he grips the table harder, so on edge that he jumps when James rests a comforting hand over his, concern in his eyes and Andy manages a weary smile back.

He's beginning to wish that he'd never agreed to doing those mojo adverts and commercials, all they seem to do is come back to haunt him. He's fucking tired of hearing about them now, he almost wants to stand up and scream get over it, the US Open was three weeks ago, but he doesn't.

Andy sits in his seat like a good boy and applauds the Belgian captain when he's done, just like he should.

It's not over as quickly as he wants it to be, but when it is, he's still seeing red. The rest of the team leave him to walk it off when they get back to the hotel, and he's so caught up in his anger that he barely thanks them before walking quickly in the other direction, glad to be away from them all, muttering under his breath about the stupid fucking adverts and the fucking media.

He's shaking and he takes out his revenge on the first thing that won't damage his chances of beating Belgium into the ground, which happens to be a discarded beer can, wishing that it was the Belgian team captain. He kicks it a few times before it a miss-hit sends it into an alley, but doesn't follow.

A little calmer, he turns a corner and takes out his cell phone, dialling a familiar number.

"Come on, pick up, pick up," he mumbles into the phone as he listens to it ring.

"Andy? Are you okay?" a sleepy, concerned voice says at the other end of the line, and Andy breathes a sigh of relief.

"Sorry to wake you, but I really needed to talk to you Rog. I just... at dinner, the fucking Belgian team captain made some fucking remarks about my mojo and it pissed me off. Can't anyone get over that? And if not, why not? And I had to sit through the dinner with him there, and I just know they were all laughing at me. They're all a bunch of fucking idiots and I'm sure he just said it to piss me off so I wouldn't play well."

His voice rises and rises as he gets more and more worked up, but amazingly even just after letting it all out he feels a little better, no longer wanting to strangle the next person who gives him a worried look as they passed on the street.

"Don't swear, Andy," he says softly, getting a chuckle from Andy before carrying on. "I liked your commercial. You looked cute in it. I especially liked the cowboy hat."

"You have to say that, you're my boyfriend."

"Ja, that is true. But you did. Just don't let them get to you like that. Martens is an idiot anyway, he probably said it just to annoy you. I am sure he wouldn't be above that. Just go out there tomorrow and play your best, and I know you'll beat them."

"On clay?"

"Even on clay. Have faith in your abilities, Andy."

"Easy for you to say. I mean, Great Britain? You won't even have to play well to beat them, you'll just have to stand there and maybe hit the ball a few times, and each shot will be a winner. Who are you playing anyway? Murray? Rusedski?"

"Nein, just some guy. I have no idea, really."

"Well, good luck with your 'some guy'. Not that you'll need it." There's a pause as Andy turns another corner, heading down a deserted street and stopping under a lamppost, leaning against it. "Wish you were here, Rog."

"You wish you were playing me tomorrow?" he says, fully joking, and Andy laughs.

"No, silly. I wish you were here with me. I wouldn't want to be playing you. Not now."

"I miss you too, Andy. I should probably go, I have an early start tomorrow."

There's a note of resignation in his voice and Andy notices it. He doesn't really want to go either.

"Me too. Thanks. How come you can always make me feel better?"

"Because I know you. Tomorrow, just play your best and kick some Belgian ass," and there's a grin in his voice as he says it because he knows the line that Andy will parrot back to him.

"Language, Roger," Andy says softly, and Roger laughs.

"That's my line, liebling. Goodnight."

"Night Rog. Thanks again."

Andy flips the phone shut, shoving it back in his pocket and begins the walk back to the hotel. The air is crisp and cool, and the breeze brushes over the back of his neck making him shiver a little, and he tugs his jacket around himself to keep warmer, wishing that he'd thought to bring a thicker one.

There's a grin on his face as he enters the warm hotel, one which gets a little wider as he sees James waiting for him in the lobby. He knows how lucky he is to have friends like these who care about him so much.

But most of all, he knows how lucky he is to have a Roger.


End file.
